


A Fire in My Skin

by shortstackedcheesecake96



Category: South Park
Genre: Choirboy Butters, Demon Summoning, Forbidden Love, M/M, Pastor Craig, Phone Destroyer AU (Mystical), imp tweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortstackedcheesecake96/pseuds/shortstackedcheesecake96
Summary: Craig is a well-respected young pastor, inspiring hope in his congregation. But they don't know of his late night infatuation that appears in the fire, and threatens to engulf his soul.





	A Fire in My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Never did I think this would be the type of fic I'd be posting on Valentine's Day. Also, I think this may be the longest piece of writing I've ever devoted to Creek (I've only ever really written prompts on tumblr), so I hope I've done their characters justice - within the confines of the AU, at least. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks for reading, and Happy Valentine's Day!

Despite the chilly autumn afternoon, Craig still stood by the chapel doors to bid his congregation farewell as they left. The chapel was a small, stout building, barely furnished and smelt faintly of damp, and yet the townspeople were flocking there to hear his sermons in increasing number. Perhaps, like Craig, they too had grown disillusioned with communion and confessions. Or perhaps they saw salvation in Craig’s handsome, youthful face, found reassurance in his measured sermons that still rang with innocence. He was barely in his twenties, but already felt infected with corruption, no doubt transmitted by his nightly visitor.

“Another wonderful sermon, Pastor, truly!” A middle-aged woman beamed, shaking Craig’s hand.

“Why, thank you, ma’am.” Craig smiled, returning the handshake.

The woman’s grin wavered, however, when she peered at his neck.

“Pastor, you have a terrible burn on your neck! How on earth did you do that?”

Craig gulped, and with his free hand covered the burn just below his ear. His heart was sprinting.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, it was just a silly accident I had trying to put out the fire,” he explained. “I was tired, wasn’t paying attention...”

“Oh dear!” she gasped, letting go of Craig’s hand and pressing her own to her chest. “You could hurt yourself terribly, if you’re not careful!”

Craig nodded, smiling tightly. “Thank you for your concern, ma’am...”

Once the chapel was empty Craig rushed back inside, rubbing his hands to inspire some warmth as he made his way to the vestry. It was only a small study, with a grimy mirror and a desk cluttered with discarded sermons. He removed his collar and, in the mirror, inspected the perfect indention it had left on his neck, thin and pink. It was then he realised that his body was marked with so many contradictions. He placed the collar on the desk and left the chapel through the back door, the snow crunching beneath his shoes as he stepped outside.

He walked to the church with folded arms and a bowed head, being reminded of his hypocrisy with every step he took. But despite growing weary of the pomp and ritual, having outgrown the faith that he had been born into, he knew it would be his only sanctuary for forgiveness.

Standing outside its doors, the building had never seemed so tall. The cross atop the roof seemed to pierce the pregnant clouds. He swallowed the apprehension rising in his throat and pushed the large door open, its creak echoing in the airy room. The pale daylight shining through the stained-glass windows illuminated the empty pews, and left Craig deflated. Even at his most sceptical, the church had never made him feel alone. He remembered standing knee-length at his mother’s side while she gossiped with her fellow parishioners, the wine feeling acidic on his tongue during his first communion, and reciting psalms with the other altar boys. Even then, Father Maxi had told him his intonation would make him a fine priest. Craig snickered, his eyes roaming the room, and lemon blond hair caught his attention.

He hurried down the aisle, and saw a choirboy sitting at the front of the altar, a bible open at his lap. 

“Excuse me,” Craig said, blushing when the boy jolted at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry to disturb you but... is Father Maxi around? I, I need to speak to him...”

“Oh, yes!” The choirboy replied, brightening immediately. “Father Maxi is in the confessional, I believe.”

“Thank you very much, uh...?”

“Leopold.”

“Leopold.” Craig nodded, before glancing above his head. “Thank you, uh-uh-again.”

Craig had already rushed off before Leopold could reply.

“God bless you, sir!” he called out.

“God bless you...” Craig murmured, unsure if Leopold even heard him.

He would never forget where the confessional was, or the feeling of shame and elation that had threatened to suffocate him in that cramped box. It was only a few years ago that he made – what he thought was – his very last confession. He had admitted that he was unsure whether the church was the right place for him to worship God, that he had felt his connection to Him wane the more he began to question the integrity of these rituals he had performed for years. Father Maxi, as always, had been unbiased, fair, compassionate, and Craig hoped he would offer him the same understanding now. Even if the nature of his confession was blasphemous to say the least.

When he reached the confessional, he saw a sheepish man on his way out. He and Craig exchanged awkward smiles, before Craig took his place. The seat was still warm, and Craig could hear his heart pound in the silence.

“Forgive me, Father, for...”  Craig closed his eyes and burned, ashamed of the words coming out of his mouth. “I have sinned. It has been seven years since my last confession.”

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, what is troubling you, my son?”

Craig sighed, hung his head as he felt the weight of all his sins on his shoulders. He had committed so many over the course of a few months, and turned a blind eye to them all, convinced himself the pleasure he had felt justified them all. But he could only bear so much.

“I... I, I don’t know where to begin.”

“Take your time.”

Craig thought back to the discovery of that hefty, ancient tome, the atrocities it revealed that disgusted and fascinated him in equal measure, and setting his eyes on that beloved creature for the first time.

“I, I have been meddling in dark practices, have been tempted by wicked, mysterious forces and I fear I am losing my way. I always considered myself a rational person, one who could always envision the path I was to go down clearly without being clouded by emotion, or...” Craig’s breath caught on the startling memory of the demon’s touch. “Or passion. I thought I was to live a modest, just life but I’m not sure anymore, Father.”

His heart clenched with despair, his hands shaking uncontrollably at his lap.

“What has led you astray, my child?”

“My curiosity. It... It has always been my downfall. Even as a child I was always questioning things; my parents, the games my friends played, I even questioned the church I belonged to. I did it... not out of _rebellion_ , I’m sure, but out of boredom. I remember my friends lifting decaying logs of fallen trees in the woods and seeing hundreds of insects crawling about, and that was how I saw the world. I always wanted to lift the surface and see the inconsistencies crawling underneath.”

“It is true that curiosity can taint the soul, subject us to impurities we later wish we never saw.”

Craig nodded, but knew remorse was the last thing he felt when he thought of the creature. Why else would he summon it time and time again?

“But that is what torments me, Father. What I saw terrified me, but also enchanted me...”

“Well, what did you see?”

“A demon, almost like a... imp, dancing in the flames, reaching out to me... it was a monstrosity, I know, wholly unnatural but... I wanted to see it again. I _had_ to see it again.” A smile trembled across his lips. “It was sublime.”

“How often do you see this... imp?”

“Every night. I summon them every night.”

“And what pleasure do you derive from seeing this creature?”

Craig shook his head, how could he explain the pleasure he felt when he had never felt anything like it before?

“Father, it’s indescribable. It’s transcendent, and scorching but...” he sighed, staring down at his limp fingers. “Once it leaves me I feel empty, wretched.”

Father Maxi sighed, and it made Craig’s skin prickle with shame.

“My son, you are not entirely to blame for these transgressions. The simple fact that you’ve come to me means you want to be absolved of these impure urges. I can tell you are an intelligent young man, but you have behaved recklessly, and foolishly, as young men are inclined to behave. This imp has taken advantage of that weakness, for that is what they are created by Lucifer to do. They are created to exploit whatever darkness is inside us we have yet to purge. They are borne of temptation, and seek to lead others down the evil, hellish path they are destined for.”

“But what of God?” Craig asked, voice straining with despair. “I fear I have neglected His wisdom. Why doesn’t he intervene? Why doesn’t he prevent the imp from visiting me?”

“You have free will, my son. It is by that which the Lord measures us with, and this is all a test. It is how you respond to the invitation of temptation that determines your character. You must find the strength to cleanse your soul of these urges, to resist the advances of this imp.”

“Yes.” Craig nodded, dazed. “Yes... thank you, Father.”

Craig stumbled out of the confessional, deflated. Despite the weight of his transgressions being lifted he didn’t feel forgiven. In fact, he was only reaffirmed with what he already knew – only he could abstain from the imp, only he could cast it out of his life. But desire was eroding his willpower, with every visit the imp made.

* * *

Craig was accustomed to staying awake until midnight now. He doubted he could fall asleep, anyway, without first being visited by the imp. He had lit the fire in the grate, and now pulled back the rug to reveal the pentagram he had drawn on the floorboards months ago. He had drawn it with the blood of a rabbit, and the once vibrant red was brown and faded now. But that didn’t matter, in the presence of the imp it regained its potency, glittered scarlet. Craig stood inside the centre of the pentagram and closed his eyes. He didn’t need the book to recite the incantation anymore.

“ _Patremfamilias Beelzebub, vocaverunt, princeps impius censetur, si disputem tecum ex infernus ex sulphure, in tenebris angelum mitteret ad me.”_

The fire roared, and Craig peeked at the flames. They had swelled, growing a slender, black tail of smoke that disappeared up the chimney. A shiver ran down his spine like an icy bead of sweat. He closed his eyes again.

“ _Patremfamilias Beelzebub, vocaverunt, princeps impius censetur, si disputem tecum ex infernus ex sulphure, in tenebris angelum mitteret ad me.”_

The copper stench of the blood was awakened, crawling into his nostrils and he retched, choking on the stifling smoke that was pervading the room. He could see the quivering yellow and orange even behind his closed eyelids, as if the fire were drawing closer. His beloved demon was approaching, reaching up through the molten plain that separated them and grasping his heart, setting it alight with his searing fingers, and robbing him of breath. He had to continue.

“ _Patremfamilias Beelzebub-”_ He coughed into his fist. “ _Vocaverunt, princeps impius censetur-”_ He was choking on every word. “ _Si disputem tecum ex infernus ex sulphure, in tenebris angelum mitteret ad me!”_

His eyes flew open, and he saw a figure reaching out through the fire, snatching the moon and stars from the sky, hoarding all the light in the room. Craig moved closer until he could feel the heat on his face. The reflections of the flames danced on his clothes, but he didn’t care if the flames caught him. He knew the imp would pull him into his tight embrace and protect him. He was no longer afraid of the creature, if anything, he was more afraid of himself.

Through the flames Craig could distinguish its red, translucent skin, its flaxen hair, and soon the imp rose above him, its ice blue eyes boring into Craig’s. Its pupils were tiny, but when Craig pressed his lips to its boiling skin they would explode, and the imp would omit a deafening screech. In Craig’s tear-filled eyes the imp’s flesh shimmered. He soon swiped his tears away when the imp lowered itself, until they were nose to nose. The imp was wide-eyed, nervous as always at the start of every tryst, like even it knew this was forbidden. Craig smiled.

“You...”

The imp blinked and averted its gaze, fleeing from Craig and wrapping him up in sulphuric, glistening smoke that sealed them off from the rest of the world.

“No!” he cried. “Please don’t be afraid!”

Elevated to this secluded plain of reality, Craig felt suddenly light-headed, like he was awake in the most vivid of dreams. The imp returned to him, shoulders hunched and staring at him like he was still unsure.

“Remember?” Craig smiled. “I won’t hurt you...”

Craig reached out to touch the imp’s cheek, and although his skin was surely scalded he didn’t feel the pain. He would only feel that once the imp was gone. The imp smiled, showing off its fangs, and with its own slender fingers reached out to stroke Craig’s cheek, its talons grazing his skin. Helplessly, Craig’s eyelids began to droop, lulled by pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful...” he whispered, finding his lover’s bewitching eyes.

“As are you...” The imp replied, its voice as brittle as broken glass.

Crag ducked his head, flushing at the compliment. The imp’s eyes roamed Craig’s face, and it ran its talon along his jaw. The touch drew Craig’s gaze to the imp like a magnet, and in the thick air between them his breathing became ragged.

The imp could anticipate Craig’s every reaction, but he refused to believe the intimacy they shared was so calculated. The imp could be so tender, so shy... surely he wasn’t just an illusion manufactured by Lucifer? A demonic plaything for Craig to do whatever he wanted? A receptacle for Craig’s wildest fantasies? He was real, he had a conscience, just like Craig... even if their parameters of morality may have differed somewhat. Perhaps he could forgive himself if he knew for certain that this was love, mutual and formidable, instead of being the victim of an innate weakness the imp had exploited.

“Do you know that this is wrong?” Craig asked.

“Wrong?” The imp replied, like he had never heard the word before.

“Yes. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But why?”

Craig huffed, his clothes were sticking to his sweaty body.

“Because of what you are... what _we_ are...”

“What are we?”

“Well – we – I... I, I’m a man,” Craig tried to explain. “A follower of God. I am supposed to speak to him, so many people look to me for His guidance, and you...”

“Yes?”

Craig shook his head. He was starting to think he may never find answers anywhere.

“You are not who I should be turning to. But I don’t know if I could ever stop this...” emboldened, he grabbed the imp by its waist and pulled it closer. “If I would ever _want_ to-”

“Then don’t.” The imp grinned. “Just love me.”

Craig sighed, weakened now the imp’s lips were so close.

“Maybe if I could have you for longer than a night...” Craig fidgeted at being the subject of the imp’s puzzled stare. “Would you stay with me?”

The imp didn’t answer, placing his bony hands either side of Craig’s face and bringing their mouths together. Craig’s head whirred at the gentle contact, and he whimpered when the imp’s searing, forked tongue parted his lips. It was as if his mouth was a cup and the imp was drinking his very soul, devouring his inhibitions. He squeezed the imp’s waist and pulled him closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, already growing insatiable. He could feel sweat crawling in his scalp, collecting under his arms, as though a thousand merciless suns were beating down on him. His clothes were oppressive, only the imp could liberate him.

“Please...” he moaned. His fingers were trembling as he undid his now tented trousers. “Please...”

Craig wasn’t sure what he was pleading for, but he cried out when the imp’s hand delved into his underwear, groping him readily. He threw his head back and the imp dove for his exposed neck, dragging its tongue over his throat and nibbling at his collarbone, sure to draw blood. But he didn’t care what the imp took from him. He would give it whatever it wanted, even if that meant his soul being dragged down to Hell.

Sunlight soon splintered Craig’s vision. The night always ended too soon. He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the new day. He was curled up by the fireplace, though shivering in the cold. His clothes were discarded beside him and charred, but he still reached for his shirt to cover his bare shoulders. He seethed, his limbs stiff and his body sore as he stretched to inspect the damage the imp had left.

His chest was branded by the imp’s kiss, littered with scratch marks. Craig remembered the imp clinging to him, its darkened eyes and lolling tongue, the piercing scream as he brought it into frenzied ecstasy. Last night, he had grinned, triumphant and enamoured, at such a sublime sight. Now, he retched with shame.

He brought his blistered fingers to his neck, wincing at the collar of searing bites the imp had decorated his throat with. Had he marked the imp like this too? Or was it purified of his kisses and bites with every reappearance in the fire? Craig leaned forward to inspect the kisses seared into the inside of his thighs, his skin drawing taut as he did. No doubt the imp had left his mark on his back too. Each burn looked the same, a pair of scorched lips with indentions of fangs. Craig couldn’t help but smile at the little tokens. At least the imp left _something_ behind. His eyes stung with tears, a lump rising in his throat. Still too weak and exhausted to go to his bedroom, he fell asleep in front of the fire instead, and dreamed of the imp emerging from the blackened wood.


End file.
